To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time
by Mikomi's Pen
Summary: [Suikoden III] Peace? We don't need no stinkin' peace. Post-game Silverberg-centric modifier-laden war epic. Tinto decides it would be a funny joke if they were to invade the Grasslands with the largest army ever seen. The Silverbergs aren't laughing.
1. Prologue

**"To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time"**

-Prologue-

-------------------

He had grown rather fond of the clock that stood in his chambers, in the way that its rhythm played out with his heartbeat in an elaborate tattoo. He liked its age, liked its smooth pale brown finish, liked its three beats for every two that twitched and rushed at his throat and wrists. He'd lain more than one day there, by the clock, counting minutes in heartbeats, counting lifetimes by life.

But this was, perhaps, not the best time for musings. He had before him now a task, a direction, in the form of a report whose truth resonated in his very being, in the flesh above his wrist, in the brand upon his skin.

"Dios."

His steward was there in a moment. "Sir."

He hesitated. Dios stood patiently, familiar with his employer's indecision. Still, this time, it was different from the paralysis of before. This new information...perhaps it was temporary, but at least for the moment, it had given him new vitality.

Still, was it the right choice? This demanded action, but delicate action. The wrong decision could spell a loss for his nation. It could spell disaster for the lesser nations.

And what was to guarantee loyalty? He had heard the rumors, and that blight of five years earlier was still fresh in his mind...And quite the blight it was. Had the man not been so clever with his defense, insisting that he was but a mere tool to the bishop, he would have been hung for high treason. Had he not been so clever, so invaluable, he probably would have been hung for high treason anyway.

Let this be a test, then, of his loyalty, of his skill. Let him take to the land where first he had failed.

The bishop once again looked down at the report. Layers upon layers; convolutions upon convolutions. Parallels, and sentimentalities. He could see where the true loyalties lay: with God, with country, with family, or with ambition. It was all far too much to pass up.

"Bring me Albert Silverberg."

And Dios nodded, and went to do his bidding, and Sasarai smiled, and felt as though he had awakened from a long sleep.

* * *

They didn't know much about the man with the grin and the red hair. He seemed friendly, if a touch condescending, but it was hard to tell when he'd said perhaps ten words to the entirety of the serving wenches at the bar. His accent was charming, cultured; he liked wines red, and sweet, and relatively inexpensive. Every day of every work week, he would come in early and position himself under a window, leaving only when the light had achieved that peculiar, thrumming quality when it's too dark for fine work but too light for candles; and then he would close his book with a thump, scatter a handful of coins across the table, and go off to god only knew where.

He did nurse his drinks, and several of the more irritable wenches had grumbled about that at first, but he smiled frequently enough and tipped well enough that they forgave him of it. Besides, they would never remove him; his mystery provided diversion to them. Julia in particular had become fixated on him, deciding that he was a deposed prince of some exotic land who had suffered numerous trials and hardships, but was merely waiting for the moment when he could seize his birthright once again and return to his homeland; his cheerful smile was merely a brave front to conceal his inner pain. The others laughed at her.

Nevertheless, they were all quite interested when a woman, somehow at once mousy and bold, walked in just after the noon rush and sat opposite the smiling man. To their dismay, the two began speaking in a language that Maria guessed was from the Toran region, but they managed to convince Aemilia, the cook who knew a great deal about a great deal, to eavesdrop on the two.

"So have you accomplished what you came for?" the mousy woman was asking as Aemilia made her subtle way over toward the window-table.

"Oh, yeah," the smiling man replied. "It takes a real genius to learn every thing there is to be learned, but I'm nothing if not a genius."

"No, then?"

"Knowledge is not something you obtain, my dear Apple." Perhaps that was some sort of pet name? "It's indefinite. You never stop learning. My journey is interminable."

The woman muttered something, and the smiling man laughed.

"Why, my dear Apple! You've become quite tart."

"Caesar – "

He lost his grin as he leaned forward. "I like it here. Have you seen the library? It's a nice library. And the wine here is good. I never even knew I liked wine, but look! I'm on a journey of discovery."

"You can get all that in Chisha."

"Yeah, but here – no one's even vaguely heard the name Silverberg for a good, what, two hundred miles around. And even if they had – why would they care?"

"I've never known you to run from notoriety."

"Not my notoriety I'm running from." He took a long sip of his wine, and when his head came back up, his smile was fixed firmly in place. "So. What brings you here? Death in my family, maybe, and someone's willing to trade a bit of info for a courier service? A wedding? It'd have to be someone fairly important, for a clan gathering..."

"You're wanted, Caesar."

"Oh? Tax evasion, probably. I can't remember having killed anyone – "

"Ha, ha. The Grasslands and Zexen are going to war."

"Well, color me surprised. Is it really that time of year again?"

"Caesar – "

"No, really. I mark my calendar by it. Hell, I mark my daily schedule by it. 'Grasslands and Zexen are at war again. Muffins are done!'"

"I don't think you get it. They're going to war, together."

He blinked. "Not against each other? Together?"

"Together."

"And they want me?"

"Yes."

"Against _who?"_

"Against _whom._" Caesar scowled; she shrugged. "Tinto."

"Tinto? Do they even have an army?"

"Quite a formidable one."

"Yeah. That's – What the hell happened?"

"Lilly Pendragon went missing."

"Lilly Pendragon goes missing every minute and a half."

"Well, I can't delve into the mind of Gustav, but he decided to get worked up over it this time, so here I am."

"And they want me. Don't they realize that there are a hundred hundred better strategists out there? I could compile a list for them."

"They know you. They think of you as a...uniting force."

"They have a uniting force." Apple was silent, and Caesar groaned. "They somehow managed to misplace the Flame Champion."

"Geddoe believes that he fulfilled his obligation to both lands, and Chris is a Zexen and Hugo a Karayan, and therefore everyone thinks them biased. So they need a third party, one without ties to either side in particular. Someone famous."

"As I live and breathe. I'm to become a figurehead. Never saw this day coming."

"Oh, come on. You'd never let them not let you take the entire thing into your own hands."

"This is all just wonderful. Give me numbers."

"Zexen has maybe twenty thousand. Grasslands has half again that. Kamaro has promised somewhere in the vicinity of five thousand."

"And they have...?"

"A hundred thousand. Maybe more. They're calling for assistance from their old allies around Dunan."

"Good God. What are their chances of getting it?"

"Couldn't tell you."

"A hundred thousand. Lord."

"The man wants his daughter back."

"At least he feels loyalty toward her. Pretty rare to find a family like that, these days."

"Well? Up for another run through the Grasslands?"

"Why the hell not."

"Good. I'll give you time to sober up, and – "

"I'm sober."

"Oh, really. You never start on about your brother unless you're at least a little drunk."

"I didn't even mention Albert. Did you hear me mention Albert?"

"Not a once. Where are you staying?"

He glared at her a moment, then stood up and jerked his head irritably. As she stood, he reached into his pocket and scattered too many coins across the table – more by far than he normally did – and the more astute among them realized right away that this would be the last time they heard from the man with the red hair and omnipresent smile.

-------------------

You remember that bit I that I said before was the prologue? Yeah. Not so much.


	2. Chapter 1: Arma Virumque Cano

**"To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time"**

-Chapter 1: Arma Virumque Cano-

-------------------

Perverse nostalgia set in as Caesar rode by ranks of soldiers, sharpening swords and polishing armor. There was comfort in these familiar sounds and sights, really; he had been born to this, raised to this very act of surveying the mustered men.

Perhaps it was a blessing that he caught a flash of white before he could become too self-absorbed. A flunkyish sort announced his presence, then that of the Lady Chris Lightfellow, Silver Maiden and the captain of the Knights of Zexen. Caesar had already slid from his horse and trotted over to clasp her hand before all her titles had been announced.

"It's good to see you again," Chris said.

"A distinct delight," Caesar responded. "Honestly, milady, I'd like to know how you do it. You haven't aged a day."

She gave a vague smile at his joke. "Oh, I don't know. I think I'm going gray," she retorted calmly. "You look well. How's the idle life been treating you?"

"Simply delightfully, thank you. I've been doing some reading, doing some thinking, furthering my plans for world domination..." She didn't laugh, and Caesar cleared his throat. "Alas, Apple put my plans on hold."

"Ah, yes. Where is she now?"

"Oh – she'll be here in a while. She had a rendezvous with some of the border scouts."

Chris nodded. "Right. Well, the command tent's this way, so..."

Caesar was glad of the excuse to put an end to the idle chatter. Honestly, he had great respect for Chris as a commander and as a person, but she had always seemed to dislike him. Rather put a damper on any prospects regarding friendship.

By contrast, the moment he stepped into the sparsely-furnished command tent, Hugo leaped up and seized him in a hug.

"By the spirits!" exclaimed the young man. "It took you long enough to get here."

Caesar laughed at the enthusiastic greeting as he pounded Hugo's back. "Entirely Apple's fault, I can assure you, because she is not, indeed, here." The two pulled apart and appraised one another. Hugo was taller, now, and more mature, more developed, but he still looked shy of adulthood.

"How were your...studies?" Hugo asked. He shot a knowing smile at the strategist.

"Absolutely fantastic," Caesar replied. "Let me tell you, some of the chambermaids they keep in the Outlands are really worth an _extensive _study. There was this one – " Then Chris walked past them into the tent, and Caesar feigned a sudden cough. She shot him an amused glance.

"I _am_ a soldier," she pointed out.

"Funny you should bring that up, because I really want to change the subject," Caesar said. "So, how about that upcoming war?"

"We _theoretically _have a chance," Chris said. She sat in one of the chairs arranged about the table in the center of the tent. Hugo sat opposite her, looking rather uncomfortable; in the Zexen camp, evidently, they went by Zexen furnishings.

"All we need is a strategist of unparalleled intrinsic genius..." Caesar said mock-thoughtfully, taking his own seat.

Hugo grinned. Chris looked as though she wanted desperately to roll her eyes. "Instead, we get you," the former retorted.

"Sir! You wound me!" Caesar placed a hand over his heart.

"What we really need is the Flame Champion," Chris interrupted.

"What we _really _need is Lilly Pendragon," Caesar shot back. "Care to lay bets on which one's going to be more elusive?"

"It's sort of strange," Hugo said thoughtfully. "I mean, her father never got this worried about her before..."

"It takes a fairly overprotective parent to start a war in response to you not sending a letter." Caesar paused and chewed his lip. "Just out of curiosity – and bear in mind that I'm not going to judge you on the basis of your answer, because I think you're both darling people – _did _you kidnap Lilly Pendragon?"

"No," Hugo replied. Chris just shot Caesar a _look_.

"Okay, then – why don't you just open your borders to Tinto? Let inside a small – "

"Absolutely not!" Hugo cried.

"Allow them to search our nation? As though we were some – some – _child, _accused of stealing petty change, and now Mother is searching for the tin soldier that wasn't there before? It's preposterous."

"We'll never allow them dominion over us! They're our _lands. _If they want power over them, they'll have to take that power from our bleeding corpses."

"Absolutely. If we allow them this – "

"All right! I was just throwing the idea out there," Caesar replied, forcing a laugh. "Damn your nationalism. So. You have sent out expeditionary forces searching for the both of them, correct?"

"We sent..."

"Watari."

"Yes. Thank you. We sent Watari to search for Lilly."

"It only cost us half a million potch, too," Hugo said.

"Duke and his group are looking for Geddoe."

"How did you manage that?"

"Money, again. They were in the area, so...Zexen is going to be bankrupt before the end of the war if we don't stop hiring mercenaries."

"Of course, we paid just as much as you did," Hugo said.

"Of course," Chris agreed.

"Anyway – it's pretty clear that we're going to have to at least hold off Tinto's forces. Obviously, once Lilly is found, we won't have to worry about Tinto as an aggressor any more, so we don't really need to counterattack, just to defend ourselves. Apple gave me some rough figures..."

"The Karaya clan is offering seven thousand warriors. The Lizard clan has twelve thousand, the Duck clan another six thousand. Alma Kinan is offering three thousand. The Safir clan has expressed desire to not become involved, but if absolutely necessary, they can muster two thousand. Chisha has offered support."

"Where's your camp?"

"About three miles east of here."

"And the Zexen forces?"

"We have five thousand cavalry immediately available to us, with fifteen thousand infantry and about three thousand specialists. If absolutely necessary," Chris added, "we could potentially begin conscription, and that would give us another ten thousand or so before the year is out. More, later on. But with elections soon, I'm not sure how willing the Council would be to approve that."

"Think you could convince them?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Depends on how bad things get."

"Well. On the other end of the spectrum, I've heard this ridiculous rumor that Tinto has raised the largest army ever seen in these parts."

"How odd. I've heard the very same." Chris tapped an armored finger on the tabletop. "By all appearances, the President is not nearly so concerned about his reelection as the Council."

"They're draftees?" At her nod, Caesar shrugged. "Well, that's something. How long has Lilly been missing?"

"The Goddess only knows."

"Well, how long ago did you hear about it?"

"Two months," Hugo said. "Maybe a bit more. We sent Apple out for you almost immediately after the President announced his intentions. That was – what – a month ago?"

"About a month, yes."

"Good God. They've been sent out with a month of training? What're they supposed to fight us with, pitchforks? When did Gustav start treating his people so callously?"

"Since his daughter got kidnapped," Hugo said.

"Or killed," Chris added. Hugo looked sick, but nodded.

"Or just failed to write home. God_damn. _Any idea on the chances of anyone helping them?"

"Pretty slim without proof," Hugo said.

"Any idea on the chances of anyone helping _us?"_

"Kamaro."

Caesar managed to suppress the urge to make a snide comment on their military prowess. "Anyone else?"

"Not unless we make a desperate appeal..." Chris trailed off, and Caesar stared at her.

"To whom?"

She looked uncomfortable. "No one. Never mind."

Caesar looked at her a moment, but decided to let it go. "Well, okay. I'm tired and smelly, and rather doubt that I'll come up with anything particularly brilliant right now, but what say you we meet again tomorrow?" At their nods, he stood. Just before he left, though:

"Caesar, do you think you'll be able to...do this? Pull it off?" Hugo's question was unsettlingly plaintive.

"Oh, sure," Caesar said. "We've seen worse things and won. This'll be easy."

-------------------

I would just like to apologize to humanity for this chapter and the babies that it's killed, and to assure you that from now on, the suck will generally be below the level at which it can pull paint off of walls.


	3. Chapter 2: Ilium

**"To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time"**

-Chapter 2: Ilium-

-------------------

"You know what we need?" Caesar had asked, looking up one night from one of the books Apple had brought him, citing his need to unwind at night.

"Lilly Pendragon?" Apple had responded.

"We need to test the enemy's strength," he had responded. At times, it was simply best to ignore his mentor. "Who's the intelligence officer here?"

"Franz," Apple replied.

Caesar had blinked at her. "Franz? Really? I had no idea Le Buque was supporting us."

"Not Le Buque as a whole. Just Franz and a few mantor riders he brought with him."

"Why?"

"I think something happened."

"Well, thanks. It was hard to figure that out."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah. But let's not get distracted. Could you possibly get him in here?"

"Get him in here your damn self."

"Please?"

"You could use the exercise, weakling," she replied, amused. He sighed heavily and made a great show of putting down his book, waiting for her to speak, to stop him and fetch the mantor rider herself. Finally: "Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

It hadn't been what he was hoping for. "It's still early," he'd responded and hopped out of his chair. "Where is he?"

"He's in a tent maybe three over from Chris's." She had finally looked up. "Want me to go with you?"

"I'd like you to go in place of me," he'd said, and she'd gone back to her book, and he'd made his grumbling way to Franz's tent. The mantor rider had welcomed him in with surprising kindness, really, particularly considering his surpassing coldness throughout the Flame Champion war.

"Where's Iku?" he had asked as Franz was fixing a drink for him. The man had stiffened, and this should have been a clue, but even after he tersely replied that she wasn't there, Caesar persisted.

"I thought she'd be following you everywhere, keeping you out of trouble," Caesar had smiled. "Is she pregnant or something?"

"She was shot and killed three months ago," Franz replied shortly.

Caesar had stared. "Shot?"

"Yes. Shot. With a gun. By a gunner. What did you come here for?" he had asked, leaving the half-finished drink on the counter and sitting opposite Caesar.

"Um. I want to see how powerful the Tinto forces are. Test them. See how they work as a group. Is there a small contingent, perhaps? I'd take out maybe a thousand or so, Grasslanders, probably, who can escape easily if things turned against them."

And Franz had nodded thoughtfully, and told him the location, and advised him to his course of action, and offered to accompany him. Had it not been for that last offer, Caesar would have suspected that Franz set him up for the insensitive questions about Iku.

"Sir!" a mantor rider who had just touched down cried over the fading hum of his mount's wings. Framed in a panorama behind him, the battle raged, with too many – far too many – falling. "Shiba is wounded, maybe worse. His squad was all but wiped out by one of those spells." The rider didn't even wait or recognition, instead launching his beast skyward once again.

"This is impossible," Caesar whispered. "Maneuvers like this...Even at our peak, we could never have pulled off a group spell!"

"I know," Apple said, looking rather nauseous. "Caesar, we have to – "

The inevitable recommendation of retreat was cut off by the approaching drone of mantor wings. Franz himself was pulling farther in, shouting something that was lost among the other noises of the battlefield. When Ruby had descended far enough, he threw himself from her back, landing among the dust as Caesar's horse shifted nervously.

"Harmonians," Franz finally gasped.

Caesar could only gape at him until the word made sense. "_Where?_"

"They're coming in behind the Tinto forces," Franz said, struggling to his feet. Caesar cursed and urged his horse a bit higher on the hill, until he could see the approaching line of blue and white behind the red.

"There must be two thousand of them," Caesar said, fumbling in his belt for binoculars as Apple rode up behind him. Even once he got them out, he couldn't see the lines of soldiers very well for the trembling in his hands. "This may well be the end of us, my dear."

"Should I sound the retreat?" she asked quietly.

He nodded and closed his eyes. He fancied he could see the entirety it in his mind's eye: the clopping of Apple's horses hooves accompanied her ride over to the heralds; the shrill whine of trumpets accompanied the slow turn and slide backwards of their forces. After a moment, he opened his eyes, and saw that the troop movements were entirely different from those he had visualized. The ragged retreat stood in opposition to his clean one. For some reason, that hit him hard.

_Albert always talked of being able to visualize the enemy..._

Well, that was why.

The thought of his brother set something off in the back of his mind, though he couldn't entirely put his finger on it. He stared at the approaching Harmonians for a long while, then forced his horse into a trot to catch up with Apple.

"How many soldiers are there in a Harmonian contingent?" he asked.

"I don't really know..." she began.

"Oh, come on, Apple, you went to Soledt. You have to know this."

"Depends, really. They come in increments of a hundred, three thousand, and five thousand."

He suddenly caught on to what he had been thinking. "But not fifteen hundred or so...?"

Her eyes narrowed as she understood. "No. They're trained rigorously, and in a group. They aren't going to just leave half the contingent behind."

"Shit," Caesar proclaimed. He pressed his fingers to his closed eyelids until black spots danced against the redness. "We can't retreat, then. But with the addition of the Harmonians, we can't stand, either...Dammit!"

"Maybe..." Apple's voice was hesitant. "Maybe we need to accept that this is a lost cause. We should ensure the escape of our generals, and..."

He pulled his horse up short. "Sound the command to stand and fight," he said loudly. "The soldiers in ambush will have to move in order to join the battle, and they'll lose their advantage," he explained to Apple. "Once they're out in the open, we'll sound the retreat once again, and hopefully break through."

Over the sound of the horns, before his forces turning once again with agonizing slowness and being cut down so brutally, he said to her, quietly, "If you want to run, you can run." She turned away and said nothing.

There was but a moment of renewed fighting before the Harmonian forces reached the rear of the Tinto forces. As they did, some sort of colored lights shot up from the rear of their ranks. At first, Caesar thought it was some side effect from spellcasting – but these let off smoke and a noise that could be heard even over the noise of battle.

Even as several of these explosions were still going off, the supplementary Harmonian forces burst from the woods, just as he had expected. However – they were actually on either side of the Tinto forces, the position that his own forces had fled from. They charged gamely forth and before Caesar's amazed eyes smashed devastatingly into Tinto's flanks.

"They're on _our_ side?" someone behind him gasped. He understood the sentiment entirely.

The Harmonians boxed Tinto in on three sides, and the Grasslanders on the fourth; the massacre was all but total. Only about five hundred of Tinto remained by the time they managed to punch a hole through the left Harmonian line; only about four hundred were able to escape.

So Caesar was left on a hill, surveying the plain liberally spread with the dead and the dying, lost in his own reflections until a push from Apple brought his attention to the lone rider dressed in blue and white riding across the field, carrying a messenger's flag.

It took several minutes before the rider was able to make his way completely across the field and through the guards. Caesar was able to tell even as the rider was still being searched for weapons that he was barely more than a boy.

"I didn't know the Harmonian army took children," Caesar muttered to Apple. But she couldn't reply with any decorum in front of the young messenger, whose horse had already made its way to the two of them.

"You're General Silverberg?" the boy asked.

"Um, yes," Caesar said, thrown off by the unfamiliar title and hating his little stumble.

The rider saluted smartly. "Sir. The commander of the 51st Squadron sends his regards, and expresses contempt that it took you so long to figure out the plan."

"Contempt..." Caesar repeated numbly and stared at the solemn-faced boy. Then he got it. "That son of a bitch!"

-------------------

Yes, it's abrupt, but sue me; I want to get to the interesting bits, rather than this half-informed blathering about things I have half a clue about. Of course, now that it's finally getting close to the good bits, I'm going on vacation for two weeks. Pardon me while I cackle evilly, and see you in a while.


	4. Chapter 3: Hector and Aeneas

**"To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time"**

-Chapter 3: Hector and Aeneas-

-------------------

Albert Silverberg rode in like a conquering hero, flanked on both sides by an honor guard of a few heavily armed soldiers. His horse was a bit stocky, perhaps, but it was hard to find one in Harmonia that wasn't, and it was proud and showy and a deep chestnut that made the pale-and-dark figure sitting atop all the more striking. He still wore that same coat, his greatest concession to his vanity, and that same vague smirk that said in no uncertain terms that he knew things to which lesser mortals were not privy.

Caesar had toyed with giving orders that he be stopped and searched, as the earlier messenger had, but ultimately decided against it. Albert, after all, put a high price on his dignity, and never allowed anyone, even his own brother, to renege on debts. Besides, allowing Albert his guard would give Caesar an excuse for his own, and he rather liked the thought of his authority bolstered by a set of Grasslanders, armed with bow and long knife, quite possibly a match for the Harmonian soldiers.

As he drew near, Albert kept his mount, and Caesar was quite glad of it; though the older was fairly significantly taller than the younger, Caesar had the taller mount, the upper ground, and the longer torso, putting his eye level above Albert's. Still, despite the height advantage, and despite the armed guard, he still dreaded the meeting.

So the two forces faced each other, neither moving but for the occasional stomp of a restive horse. Albert was the first to speak:

"General," he greeted, with an inclination of his head and only a light dusting of irony.

Caesar appreciated the opening. "Major," he returned, unable to help but stress the inferior rank, and proud of his ability to identify the insignia hanging on his brother's breast. But Albert's lips curved up a bit further, and Caesar's slight triumph was utterly destroyed.

They stared at each other for a while longer. If Albert was starting to feel anywhere near so uncomfortable as Caesar, his dark eyes showed nothing of it.

Caesar was the one who blinked first. "I suppose you got what you wanted, then, didn't you?" he asked, only half-aware of what he was saying. "A dramatic entrance."

His brother laughed. Caesar remembered his laugh, just like his voice: soft, slow, deep, and serious as the Plague. "God knows I live for nothing else," Albert responded, the irony now coming in deep draughts.

"What are you doing here?" Caesar snapped.

"I felt as though we'd fallen out of contact. I wanted to remedy that." If sarcasm were water...

"With several thousand soldiers to bolster your courage."

"There aren't any laws against it." Albert smiled. Well, the trap his brother had laid was broad, but Caesar figured he'd walk right into it, if only to see the other's reaction.

"With a moderately-sized army at your heels?" Caesar laughed. "There might be a couple, just generally speaking, you know, _loose_ guidelines preventing the utter and shameless ignoring of principles of national sovereignty."

"And if only there were laws against your utter and shameless ignorance of basic principles of grammar."

"Shut up," he muttered. Not, perhaps, the _bon mot_ he might have hoped for, but he needed to say _something._

"International law is altered at time of war." Fantastic. All he needed now was for Albert to start in pontificating upon international law. Few things were more unbearable.

"For parties involved," he said swiftly, hoping to cut him off. "Unless those are actually Grasslanders out there in Harmonian uniform – "

"Before you make an enormous ass of yourself, Caesar, it is my pleasure to inform you that the Sovereign and Holy Kingdom of Harmonia has established an alliance with the joint Zexen-Grasslands forces."

There was a curious weightless feeling in his stomach before he managed to choke out, "Who? Who was the self-important little wanker who signed off on – "

"It was a joint decision by Lady Chris Lightfellow and Hugo of Karaya."

"It was."

"Yes."

"And do they know that it's you?"

Finally, Albert's voice held something other than condescension, though it was rather unclear what that something was. "Caesar – "

"Do they know," Caesar continued, rather enjoying the crack in Albert's smooth surface, "that they've just allowed into their tents the very man who was so willing to sacrifice a thousand thousand lives, and all for the sake of his own ambition? Who was willing to condemn to death – "

"You're going to be beating this drum quite a bit, aren't you?" Albert asked, now not bothering to even conceal his annoyance.

"Do they _know?"_

"Honest to God, Caesar, I don't know. I sent a messenger. I gave said messenger no particular instructions on whether or not to give my name. They might know, they might not, but really, I don't think it would matter if I were an incarnation of the Beast Rune or Tir fucking McDohl himself, because I have soldiers, and that is what you need." Albert, perhaps taking a moment to recover from the rare anger to which he had been roused, looked off over his right shoulder and the battlefield they were only beginning to clean. He spoke a moment later without looking back. "If you're so stupid as to turn that away..."

"Why are you here, Albert?"

Caesar might have hoped to catch him in a moment of overstrained nerves, of emotional brittleness, but Albert turned back with a broad, mocking smile. "Reconciliation, little brother. Here for you are my apologia, living and breathing and three thousand in number."

For some reason, Caesar wasn't convinced. "What, is Harmonia going to demand a bit of land in return? A foothold in the west? Maybe so they can springboard into the Northern Lands. Or – Tinto, once subdued, will hold considerable mineral wealth."

"Except that in order to demand those sorts of things, the bishops would have needed to send more than a few thousand soldiers. Honestly, Caesar. The 51st Squadron is Bishop Sasarai's personal guard. He gave me instructions to utilize them however I see fit in order to assist in the defense of the Grasslands."

"From what I hear, it's surprising to hear him give an actual _order _these days."

"From what I hear, it's unusual for you to have heard anything."

"Keeping tabs on me, Albert?" The thought was rather uncomfortable, given how religiously he had avoided news of his brother.

"And the utterly _fascinating _life you decided to lead since we last met, yes. That was a brilliant decision, by the way; I know no better place to learn than a miniscule village far beyond the reaches of civilization."

"They had some unique manuscripts there."

"I'm sure they did." He looked over Caesar's shoulder and to the left, and Caesar turned to see Apple, riding up from the side.

"Caesar, they need to know your plans for holding this area. Hello, Albert," she added, barely pausing to register the older brother's presence.

"Hello, Apple," Albert responded. "You're looking well."

"And yourself," she responded, then turned back to Caesar. "So?"

"How many soldiers do we have left here?"

"Six hundred or so."

"From a thousand...Damn it all." He glanced over at Albert, expecting to make a comment on how Caesar was indebted to the Harmonian forces, but his brother was looking at him with a thoughtful little smile, and he looked away uncomfortably. "Maybe...How many days' worth of food is there?"

"For all six hundred? Five, maybe."

"Okay. Well. Leave five hundred behind, the most capable hunters – "

"Take everyone home," Albert said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Take everyone home. Five hundred won't be able to stand up to any decent force of Tinto's. Twice that barely could. This place has no strategic value...You just came out here to test their strength. You got what you came for."

"How do you know that's what I came for?"

"I guessed. Was I right?"

Caesar gritted his teeth. He had wanted to issue elaborate orders, he supposed, something that sounded impressive – but holding this scrap of nothingness, this land that once was, by chance, a camp of Tinto's forces – it was ridiculous. Even he had to admit that upon reflection. "We'll pull back our forces. Everyone return to camp."

Apple eyed the Harmonians, the guard standing behind both brothers, and gave a decorous nod. "Yes, General," she replied, and pulled her horse around to trot toward his commanders.

"You're lucky I got here when I did," Albert said. Caesar glanced at him, and he elaborated. "I can help you a great deal, if only to disabuse you of an idea you seem to have formed early on. The Tinto forces are not ill-trained. They're not peasants carry pitchforks."

"I can see that," Caesar said.

"You need to understand, Caesar." Albert sounded oddly urgent. "They've probably been training for months. Six, at the least, though most likely as long as a year."

"That's ridiculous. Lilly's only been missing for – what – three months? A bit longer?"

"This war has been in the works for longer than that," Albert shot back. "And it's certainly not about Lilly. I have...informants...just about everywhere. One of them was reporting rumors in Tinto about her disappearance a month before another spotted her up north. Gustav began quietly building up the military even before that. Her disappearance – her death – is only an excuse for Gustav."

Caesar had begun shaking his head halfway through Albert's speech. "That's impossible."

"I don't see why."

"Because disloyalty of that magnitude – to _family _– "

"I should think," Albert said, his voice even softer than normal, "given all your declarations, that you would be the first to assume disloyalty among family members."

Had Albert sat and thought for a number of days, he probably wouldn't have been able to come up with an accusation so unremittingly awkward. Caesar pulled on his horse's reigns, and was startled to remember the guard. Oh, good God. He had no idea how to send them away. Had he a normal brother, he could have asked him and it probably would have been quite hilarious, but he didn't, so he couldn't.

"Thank you," he said to the group of them. "It appears as though we're all safe from the Harmonian forces." Not, perhaps, an eminently quotable dismissal, but he could have done worse. Albert, on the other hand, had an enviable grace in performing the same task; he merely jerked his head, and the Harmonians saluted in unison and turned back to the main body of their army.

"I assume that you'll allow my soldiers to set up camp near yours?" Albert asked, urging his horse forward until he caught up with Caesar. "Or are you afraid we'll taint you?"

"Of course you'll be given space to set up camp. Don't expect, however, to have access to Chris, or Hugo, or myself – "

"That might not be the stupidest or pettiest thing you've ever said, but it's up there. His Holiness the Bishop Sasarai entrusted me with his personal forces, and I'll be the only one to command them. Shutting me out of strategy meetings would be...well, idiotic, particularly taking into consideration that I'm the best strategist your army is likely to see."

Oh, good. He'd gotten even more unbearable over the years. "Not, of course, to overestimate your skills."

"Not to overestimate my skills," Albert agreed, turning Caesar's irony into his own praises. "You could, of course, ignore my counsel, but – well, it might not cause _certain _doom, but there would be considerably more deaths."

Caesar was doubly glad that they had stayed mounted, since at that moment an Albert within his reach was an Albert who would probably up and leave over injuries received. Of course, he would probably turn that against Caesar, too – _"A good strategist never lets anger overwhelm his senses," _or _"A good strategist never resorts to violence," _as though the very profession was an amalgamation of nothing else –

"Caesar," Albert said quite suddenly. "Do you want me here?"

It was a strangely vulnerable question, though there wasn't even the slightest change in his voice or face. So he swallowed his instant declaration that he wanted Albert's presence like he wanted a sucking blackened vortex instead of a face and actually considered his answer.

"There are few people," he said after a pause, "who I would less like on the side of my enemy. And I won't deny that you're talented, and will help our army." There. A delightful non-answer. "We'll be returning to the camps in a few hours. You should get prepared."

Caesar was glad, then, that Albert couldn't really ride a horse, and that he was able to get out of earshot quickly enough to avoid any more witticisms from his brother.

Good God. This was going to be awful.

-------------------

I altered the story a bit. I added a chunk to the prologue, written not so much for expository purposes, but more for the purpose of parallelism in the finished story. So, there you go.

You know, normally, I decide that a fanfic is going to be epic, and then drop it a fraction of the way through. This time, I decide that I'll drop it a fraction of the way through, then realize that I actually have enough interest and good ideas to carry it all the way through. Whaddaya know.

Anyway. So, yes. Albert. Sexy. Cough.

England was quite nice. Hot, though, and utterly sans air conditioning.


	5. Chapter 4: Vis à Vis

**"To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time"**

-Chapter 4: Vis-à-Vis-

-------------------

The armies came home from the Tinto-Grasslands border the next day just as the sun was falling huge on the horizon, wrapped in the blood of twilight. It was the hour when buglers sounded the ceasing of hostilities for the day, the hour when soldiers withdrew to mourn their dead and lick their wounds, when those who supported the combatants had their true work to do.

However, even the presence of true work couldn't keep hundreds of them, thousands, from crowding the streets and alleys formed by the carefully planned city of tents, to watch what could very well be their salvation. And were they grand! Each one of them, from officers to infantry, clothed impeccably in blue and white, each marching or riding in perfect step. And at the head of them all, standing out in his singular lack of uniformity, rode the proud strategist, aloof, like nobility incarnate, like a god.

And if there were any among them who remembered a white-coated man who once rode among them like the eldritch among the earthly, who sat in council with Harmonians not seen as saviors, but barbarians, invading foreigners, who thought nothing of the lives of innocents – well, how could the two be the same? The enemy of five years before was a beast. This was a man to invite to a table set with the best flatware you possessed.

For his part, Caesar wished as he rode in that he was good with horses. He wished he were the sort of general who would insist on tending to his own mount, going with her, or him, or whatever, to the stable-tent and brushing it down and tending to its teeth and whatever else needed to be done for horses. He wished he were the sort of person who would hold an apple or carrot beneath its nose, and pat its neck, and mutter to it as he brooded.

He needed some time to brood.

But as he rode in, a small Karayan boy dashed up and took the reigns. Once he had slid off the thing, the boy tended to it expertly, and led it off. The kid couldn't have been more than twelve, thirteen, maybe, and had far more competency than Caesar could ever have hoped for.

Somewhere to the south, the Harmonians were setting up their own camp. He had no doubt that Albert would have to oversee his own tent's construction and make sure that there were enough creature comforts for him. His brother was disgustingly fond of luxury. Still, it was all for the good; he'd be able to confront Chris and Hugo about what they'd done without Albert there.

He was informed by a disconcertingly obsequious guard outside Chris's tent that the Captain was out at the moment, she was visiting one of her knights, but she'd be back in a matter of moments, so would he like to leave a message for her, or wait for her? No, thank you, he would not; waiting for her would be a horrendous anticlimax, and he'd be damned if he had any life taken out of what he wanted to say by some second-rate attendant. He'd prefer to rage at the Captain in person.

Hugo, however, was present just a few tents over, in the residence that had been set up shortly after the Zexen and Grasslands armies had set up camp in closer proximity. He had also placed a thick rug on the floor of the tent, which Caesar was able to stumble over as he came in. Fantastic; so much for the advantage of surprise. So much for the dramatic entrance.

Still, he pretty much made up for it with his opening salvo.

"What did you _do?" _he demanded. Hugo recoiled at the anger in his voice.

"What do you mean?" the Grasslander asked, uncertain. "I..."

"What would ever, _ever _make you think that it's a good idea to ally with Harmonians? They're deceitful, they're...Have you forgotten what they've _done?"_

Hugo collected himself and shook his head, rising from the cushion upon which he sat. "Of course I haven't, Caesar, but we need their help."

"Like you need a hole in the head! You can be sure they have an ulterior motive in this."

"They probably do, yes, but we can deal with that once Tinto's threat is no longer imminent." Hugo looked at that moment at once so earnest and so wise that Caesar couldn't help but think his own indignation vaguely ridiculous. He turned away, paced a few times, and shoved his hand through his hair, then swung back toward the future chief.

"You do realize who's leading them, don't you?"

"I do," Hugo said softly.

"And?"

"And...his hand is outstretched when we're flat on our backs, and it would be foolish not to take it."

"Except – " Caesar laughed – "except that it's outstretched because his accomplice doesn't have a good enough angle at our backs. He wants to lift us up so that the other traitor can have a good shot. You know? Albert has never cared for anyone but Albert. He's a dangerous man. He can bring nothing but harm to us. His ambition is, is, _overpowering. _There's nothing else for...him..." Caesar stopped when he saw that Hugo wasn't looking at him.

"Of course," came the half-expected soft voice from behind him, "that may well be a good thing. When you know a man's motivations, you can predict his actions."

Caesar turned to see Albert smirking there, a nervous-looking herald beside him. Evidently, the latter had been too intimidated by Caesar's tirade to interrupt him and keep him from making an ass of himself. Little bastard.

"Major Albert Silverberg of Harmonia," the herald muttered, and slipped away. Albert seemed all the more amused for the sad introduction, and walked boldly into the tent.

"Hugo," he greeted with a nod. "How is your mother?"

"Do you know her?" Caesar was slightly mollified to see that for all his talk of accepting help from any source, Hugo still looked askance at Albert.

Albert, however, chose to utterly ignore the lack of enthusiasm for his presence. "By reputation only, I'm afraid. My grandfather always spoke quite highly of her."

"She's doing the actual job of governing, while I'm out here playing at war." Both Hugo's response and his subsequent laugh sounded rather canned.

"Ah. Well, it's nice to meet you face-to-face." Caesar was tempted to point out that they'd met face-to-face before, under decidedly different circumstances, but he wouldn't want anyone thinking him _tactless._ "And Caesar," Albert greeted. "I haven't seen much of you lately."

For a man who prided himself on subtlety, Albert's jibes were quite broad. "Some of us had things to attend to on the ride over. _Some _of us didn't have time to just look impressive." Not too bad.

"Some of us can multitask," his brother shot back. Asshole. Hugo coughed.

"In any case – it's nice to hear that you're both here," the young man said. "Perhaps if you want to continue this conversation..."

"Oh, no. As delightful as I find my brother's banter, I have other things to discuss. May I?" Albert asked, gesturing at a cushion.

"Of course," Hugo replied, putting away the papers he had been studying before Caesar had come in.

"We need to discuss the overarching strategy for your forces," Albert said as he sat down. "As it stands, there seems to be none."

Hugo nodded, then called, "Elli!"

A page popped his head inside. "Yeah?"

"Look to see if Chris is back, okay?"

The page nodded and popped back out.

Hugo shrugged at Albert. "Lady Chris should probably be here for this meeting."

"Naturally," Albert agreed. He looked over at Caesar, who suddenly felt singularly uncomfortable, standing as the others sat. So he made his way as unobtrusively as he could over to a pillow and sat down. His back complained as he did so. It was a mystery how so ill-furnished a people could have established themselves as a power in the world.

"So, tell me, then, both of you. What were your observations on the Tinto army?"

Caesar looked over at Albert, who was watching _him _from the corner of his eye. "Well," Caesar said at last, "there are a lot of them."

"That much, I've heard."

He tried to organize his thoughts into a coherent whole before speaking again. "There's – "

"Lady Chris Lightfellow," said someone from the tentflap, and the woman herself walked in. She looked tired and a bit ragged, but smiled.

"Your page found me just as I was passing the tent," she said. "Terribly convenient."

"Particularly for us," Hugo said. "We only just started. Please, sit."

"Captain Lightfellow," Albert greeted. "An honor."

"Of course," she replied. Caesar was quite glad to see that she too looked less than overjoyed at their new strange bedfellow.

Albert didn't dwell on the less than decorous greeting. "I've been studying the information you sent me over the past days. Most of it is quite useful and insightful. Commend who's responsible for that." Caesar hated Albert fairly considerably at that moment. "There are, however, a few misconceptions that this latest battle has made clear."

"Please, enlighten us," Caesar said. The ensuing silence made him wish he hadn't. Sadly, it was Albert who saved him from his own childishness, turning toward him with a smile.

"That's what I plan to do. Unfortunately for everyone involved, the situation is more dire by far than it originally seemed. All evidence pointed toward the fact that the Tinto forces would be ill-trained and barely armed. The opposite now seems to be true. You had been working under the principle that even if you were outnumbered, you still stood a fighting chance because of your superior training and coherence. Yes, your forces are superior, but only marginally. It has become evident that you would most likely need, if luck stood, about a four to five soldier to soldier ratio.

"However, reports of their hundred thousand have been exaggerated. At the moment, they probably only have fifty thousand mobilized. It'll probably be about three weeks before the others finish training, and then you're in deep water.

"Obviously, you're not going to get an additional forty thousand soldiers, even given three weeks. So conventional fighting – honest fighting, if you will – is out of the question."

"So what do you propose?" Hugo asked.

"My first impulse would be an assassination, but it would be seen as..." Albert chewed at his lip. "Cruel, basically. It would really play quite poorly in the international forum: the man wants his daughter back, so we kill him."

"I don't much care for the idea of assassination, either," Chris said.

"Some people find it immoral," he agreed. "Maybe..." He nodded shortly. "We should assemble a force. Take the city of Tinto."

Caesar spluttered. "I'm _sorry? _You seem to be suggesting that we..."

"Invade, yes."

"This isn't a..." No, that wasn't right. "We're not a...We're _defending ourselves!"_

"And let's see you defend yourself when Tinto is able to call upon every resource available to it. Let's see you defend yourself once they're no longer hemmed in by mountains. We can defend ourselves now; in three weeks, we won't be able to. So we exploit our advantage. We destroy their capacity to attack us."

Hugo frowned thoughtfully. "How does it make us look?"

"We'll be fine, as long as we handle it the right way. We don't go scorched-earth, we don't allow pillaging, and we back off as soon as Gustav promises to respect our borders." Albert leaned back a bit. "Simple."

"How many people would we kill as a result of that?"

The elder brother raised an eyebrow at the younger. "I'm no seer, Caesar."

"So there _is _something you're incapable of!"

"I would guess...It would be a strike force, small, well-trained. We'd probably only send in five thousand to take the capital. We'd probably lose, of that, a thousand. Maybe more. Tinto would lose a good part of their forces in the immediate area."

"And civilian casualties?"

"It depends on whether they resisted or not. There's going to be casualties with this, okay?"

"I don't like it," Caesar declared.

"I'm sorry," Albert responded.

"We're fighting this war to maintain our sovereignty, but you think we should invade another country? It's a touch hypocritical, don't you think?"

"Do you have another suggestion?"

"We use the mountains to our advantage. There are enough narrow passes that we can compensate for our inferior numbers."

"And?"

"And what? We hold them off."

"Until what?"

"Until we find Lilly."

Albert nodded; clearly, he had expected this answer. "You won't."

"Albert thinks that she's dead," Caesar explained to the other two. Chris looked as though that sounded about right to her; Hugo looked pale. "I think Albert's full of crap. I met Gustav once. He was devoted to his daughter."

"You think Gustav was behind Lilly's disappearance?" Chris asked Albert.

"I do. He moved far too suddenly. Besides, if he had thought she was still alive, he certainly wouldn't have acted so suddenly or violently."

"He wouldn't have killed her," Caesar insisted.

"Sometimes, Caesar, you're a bit too..." Albert squinted a bit as he searched for the appropriate word. "Sappy," he finally managed, with a half-shrug that was probably apologetic for the banal language rather than the harsh sentiment. "The only way Gustav could get a war in the Grasslands would be to – "

"And why would he want a war in the Grasslands?"

Albert shrugged casually, but he sounded a bit irritated. "I couldn't tell you for sure. Land, probably; the population of Tinto has been expanding precipitously in the past few years, and it's a country of limited size."

"If they wanted land, they could have asked for it," Hugo pointed out. "There aren't any tribes in the southwest. I'm sure none of the tribes would object to them establishing a few farms or the like."

He shrugged again. "Popularity, then, maybe. There are few things like a war to make a nation rally around their leader."

"You're actually proposing – " Caesar forced a laugh. "You're actually proposing that Gustav – hid, or murdered, or whatever – his daughter to increase his _popularity?"_

"The people elect him. He needs popularity to stay in power. Men have done less for power."

"He would never do that. It's _vile. _It's absolutely _vile._"

His brother fixed him with a green gaze laden with contempt. "It's governance."

"Well, I guess if anyone in the room were going to suggest something like that, it would have been you, wouldn't it? It takes someone like you to come up with the murder of family," Caesar sneered, barely even paying attention to what he was saying. Despite the inanity of the attack, Albert actually, physically jerked back a bit. Still, it took but a moment before the elder brother came back with his own salvo.

"There's no need to be a _child_, Caesar. Personal attacks are hardly called for, just because you're _incapable_ of grasping the real world."

"You know what?" Caesar said, standing up. "I'm done. I'm done. This isn't the time, or the place, and I can't – I'm done."

He didn't notice whether any of the others said anything or made any motions for him to stop and sit down and talk over his issues like a big boy. He was too busy trying to think of a place to sit, and brood.

He needed some time to brood.

-------------------

Whoo. Long chapter. And I was going to include another section, but ultimately decided against it, since I want to maximize the number of chapters in this story, because I really enjoy coming up with chapter titles.

Poor Caesar. I'm getting pretty annoyed at how I can't stop myself from portraying him as childish. He'll grow up, though. It's a coming-of-age fanfic, dammit!

Anyway. In response to a few inquiries:

I _am _going by the Luc rather than the Ted model of "whoops, we silly game designers forgot that True Runes grant agelessness, so let's make crap up to cover for it." So Hugo did age a bit, because he hadn't reached full physical maturity. So, physically, he's probably about, ohh, seventeen, rather than the twenty he would be.

Speaking of which – the story is five years after the end of Suikoden III.

And yes, Geddoe is the FC.

Oh, and to Jonathan – I have to agree that Mathiu was the best strategist, and probably would have been my favorite, were I not, you know, shallow and fangirl-y. Cough. Oh, and I left out Budehuc as an ally because I figured they wouldn't have any sort of real army to reckon with. They're sort of more of a country manor castle than a fortress castle.


	6. Chapter 5: Astyanax

**"To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time"**

-Chapter 5: Astyanax-

-------------------

Sometime after Albert had left for his first lessons in Harmonia, Caesar had taken up the sword. He never was entirely sure what made him do it – he was bored, perhaps, or lonely, or wanted to prove he was more than just a poor imitation of his brother – but he took the lessons grimly, an hour a day, three days a week.

The schedule had lasted a year, and Caesar, to his disappointment, found himself to be exceedingly mediocre at it. Albert himself could probably have accomplished what Caesar accomplished in that year. So Caesar stopped the lessons in all their futility, and went back to books.

But he found that even now, fifteen plus years after his last lesson, that he still remembered how to fight dummies. The angles were a bit different from what he recalled, and his muscles were out of shape, and it was a clumsy affair at best, but it gave him something to do. And he liked the solitude. The armory tent was closed after sundown, of course, but General Silverberg wasn't subject to the laws of mere mortals. If he wanted to, he could battle stuffed opponents in moon- and torchlight, the gentle reproach of crickets underlining the metallic clang of sparring.

He attempted a disarm and failed, cursing as the rapier slipped from his fingers. As he bent down to pick it up, he heard a rustle of fabric behind him – the armsmaster, perhaps, or Apple, come to tell him that it was nice that he was exercising, but that he needed sleep, too. He didn't want anyone cajoling him to leave, so he just ignored the whoever.

Again he locked sword with stationary sword and twisted, and the blade came free of the cloth-and-wire grip. He drew in a breath and held it until his pulse slowed, then turned to his visitor.

It was Albert who was sitting there. He should have expected that, he supposed, given his brother's tendencies to grasp a subject like a _leech _and not let go until it was bled dry. So Caesar waited for Albert to make some snide comment about his brother's abilities in triumphing over inanimate objects.

None was forthcoming. Albert must have been tired. So Caesar, again, was compelled to speak before he wanted to.

"What, are you stalking me?"

He waited for some sarcastic comment, perhaps on his looks or something of the like; yet again, Albert said nothing. Well, fine. Albert wasn't the only one capable of silence.

And it _was _Albert who spoke.

"That was not..._the _most decorous thing you might have done, in there."

If only it were a live weapon Caesar held. "Don't act like _I _was the only one being childish in there."

"Don't be ludicrous. I was fine."

"You were an asshole. Condescending to anything that moved – "

"Oh, only to _you, _really," Albert responded with a patronizing smile.

"You were every bit as bad as I was."

"Yes, well, you started it." The combination of the flickering torchlight and the moon from the hole in the canvas above made it actually look like Albert _winced, _as though he were capable of wincing. Man had a face as mobile as a rock. "I didn't come here to bicker."

"And yet you're managing so well." Caesar's voice was dry enough to be mistaken for his brother's.

Albert cleared his throat. "Caesar...I didn't come here with ulterior motives."

"What a relief. I don't have to worry about you finagling me into – "

"No, Caesar. I didn't come – " his gesture encompassed the whole camp – "here – with ulterior motives." He paused a moment to let that sink in. "I honestly want to help you."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes," Albert said simply.

Caesar stared at him a moment. "Are you drunk?"

"What? No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't get drunk in the presence of others."

"Because, honestly – what you just said – it wasn't glib. It wasn't, you know, you."

"Probably just another devious technique to ensnare your mind into deception."

"Okay. That's better." Caesar took a moment to put away the practice sword. "So, then – why are you here?"

"Because I heard you were in trouble, Caesar." Albert sort of tilted his head a touch and spread his fingers, as broad a shrug as one could expect, when Caesar turned to him with his best skeptical expression. "I know you're not any more likely to believe it this time around, except for then I was facetious and now I'm not, but I heard that you were out here, hopelessly outnumbered. So I asked the Bishop, and he capitulated, as usual. So here I am."

Caesar licked his lips nervously. "So, about that being drunk thing – "

"God fucking damn it, Caesar."

Albert had a delightfully persuasive way of cursing. It had something to do with the way he said the consonants – crisp, but not overly so. It was interesting. "I've just never heard you this candid before."

"I've never had reason to be this candid before."

"Not even when we were kids," Caesar added.

"No," Albert agreed. Was he actually sad? Well, sorrow wasn't beyond Albert – but was he actually expressing it?

Caesar cleared his throat again. Damn, but this was an uncomfortable topic. "So, then – " he said, frantically changing it. "Did you decide our plan of attack?"

"No."

"Oh. Really?"

"No, Caesar, I just lied to you there merely to see how you'd react. Of course we didn't. You'd left."

"A direct charge would be suicide."

"They wouldn't even know our forces were within their country," Albert said. He leaped to his feet and began to pace. "Archer – a mage I have – he's marvelous with the Blinking Rune. He can work in tandem with some mages – probably from Zexen, they seem like they'd be more orthodox mages – and spread a cloaking spell over the entire army..."

"And so they make it to Tinto. So they take the capital. Then what? We're confronted with the same dilemma as if we had hired an assassin."

"No. We don't kill anyone. We occupy the Presidential Palace..."

"Ah. So we'll look like crazed terrorists, holding a leader ransom. Fantastic."

Albert actually frowned and bit his lip. "We have no other alternatives."

"It all hinges on whether or not Lilly is dead."

Albert nodded. "If she is – and I think she is – we need to take action. If she's not...Chris and Hugo told me you sent someone to search for her?"

"A ninja, apparently. I wasn't part of the proceedings."

"It was a good thought, but if he can be bought...If Lilly isn't already dead, it would be the work of but a moment for a higher bidder to..."

"No." Caesar shook his head. "I knew the man during the war. He wouldn't betray a contract."

Albert looked skeptical, but nodded. "If you knew him. You know what I think?" He didn't care if Caesar did know, evidently. "I think we should fortify the mountain passes. We can hold the passes for a while. From there, we can continue to hold them, or springboard into Tinto."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"Were you?" A smile, tempered by something unsteady in the flickering light, crept across Albert's face. "Well. Will you tell the esteemed captains of this army, or shall I?"

"I will," Caesar said.

Albert shook his head. "No. I will. You need sleep."

"Well, so do you, but whatever. Your grave." Caesar wiped his face with a towel – more for the show of it than any actual need; it was _cold _out – and locked up the cabinet with a key he had demanded of the armsmaster. He debated waking the middle-aged man up to return the thing, and decided against it. The man probably had limited sleep and unlimited duplicates.

"You're an uncle," Albert said suddenly, then paused a moment and coughed a bit, "by the way, Caesar. "

Well. How does one react to this sort of news? "I'm glad that that segue wasn't awkward at all." Ah, sarcasm. Solving all of life's problems.

"Well, I didn't really know how to tell you."

"Are you married, too? Because, you know, if this baby was born out of wedlock, the rest of the debutantes won't associate with you anymore, and it'll be hard to find a husband with that smirch on your honor – "

"Ha, ha. I am married, thank you. I have been for about three years now."

"I was near Harmonia three years ago."

"I know you were."

"I wasn't invited to my own brother's wedding! Oh, the exclusion!"

"I thought – " Albert sort of shrugged. "I thought it would be more embarrassing to invite you and not have you show up than to not invite you and not have you show up. Besides, it wasn't a big deal."

"Who is she?"

"My wife?"

"No, someone we haven't been discussing for a while now. I figure, what with your grand ambitions..."

"Yeah. It was a bit of a...political marriage, I suppose." Albert cleared his throat again, and adjusted his coat sleeves. "Well. Her name is Victoria, and she's the daughter of a bishop. She's probably smarter than I am." The way he said it, it didn't sound patronizing. "I respect her."

"No love lost between you, though."

"I don't trust her much," Albert admitted.

"And without trust...Oh, alas, alas!" Caesar dropped his asinine manner. "What about your kid? How old is he?"

"She," Albert corrected with a bit of force, "is just over one. She's...an amazing kid, she really is. She practically learned to talk before she learned to walk. One time I caught her teething on one of my chess pieces."

"Um, okay. I'd think you'd be pissed over that."

"It was one of the stone ones. She didn't do any damage."

Caesar eyed Albert, who was actually _smiling. _"You probably wouldn't have been pissed if she had. You're spoiling this kid horribly, aren't you?"

"That's the thing, though. Dessa is just such a good kid that I couldn't spoil her if I _tried._"

"Dessa?"

"Short for Odessa."

"Really?"

"Yes." The "wanna make somethin' of it" was merely implied.

"I'm seeing entirely new sides of Albert Silverberg this evening," Caesar commented loftily. "Humble Albert. Filial piety Albert. Which – if you were going to name her after any of our ancestors, I thought for sure you would have gone for Eleanor."

"Odessa did some admirable things."

"Yeah, I'm not debating that. I just thought that you'd be the last to recognize that. And I thought you wouldn't be such a disgustingly doting parent."

"A double insult," Albert said mildly. "Have you no mercy, sir?"

"None," Caesar replied, "when I'm low on sleep. Are you sure you want to talk to them? Don't want to get to bed?"

"I'm the very definition of fine with it. I could probably rouse some hapless messenger to carry the message for me," he added thoughtfully.

"You're a cruel man," Caesar commented. To his surprise, Albert actually obliged with a brief, self-conscious evil chuckle, which became an actual, self-conscious laugh.

"You know, I'm glad we had this talk," Albert said, hovering in the indistinct range between sarcasm and genuine sentiment. "I feel as though I got a lot off my chest."

"What a relief," Caesar said. "Your mental health really matters to me."

"I am wounded – _wounded – _by your apathy."

"I'm _sure._" Caesar threw a wave over his shoulder as he walked out. "G'night, Albert."

He got lost – twice – on the way back to his tent, but he didn't mind too horribly. For all his talk of going to bed, he rather doubted that he'd be able to sleep after all that.

-------------------

So, Albert's wife's name is Victoria, and as the daughter of a bishop in theocratic Harmonia, is all but royalty. Oh ho ho ho, I am teh clebar.

Anyway – this chapter is contrived, but it's warm and squicky and stuff like that, so I'm not too dissatisfied with it.

And you just know that Spawn of Albert would have to be cute.


	7. Chapter 6: The Sea of Aegis

**"To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time"**

-Chapter 6: The Sea of Aegis-

-------------------

Caesar watched with a frown as, once again, the oncoming Tinto forces attempted to push around to the east. It would be a perfectly valid move, he supposed – trying to get behind the bulk of the forces and drive them into the very mountains that blocked most of Tinto's maneuvers now – if Albert's Harmonians hadn't held the position they were attempting to break through. As it was, the Tintos were slaughtered with unnerving efficiency, the first ranks cut down by lightning magic, the second by ranks of polearms as they stumbled over the felled corpses of their comrades.

Yet they kept pushing toward the jaws of death, rather than locking with the Grasslanders to the west or the Zexens to the north. Their shorter swords and less ruthless – more honest, one might say – style of combat left fewer casualties among the ranks of the Tinto.

Why didn't they retreat? The mountains were at their back, yes, but there was a broad pass there. He wouldn't pursue if they ran for their lives. As it stood, they were going to be slaughtered.

He pulled out his binoculars and watched the progress of one particular soldier, a young man who looked as though he wanted to turn back. Pushed forward by the ranks behind him, he was cut down by one of the Zexens.

Maybe that sort of watching wasn't the best idea. Instead, he swung his binoculars up to look at Albert, standing on the bluff opposite his and staring fixedly down at the battle below. Caesar could wish for his detachment. As he watched, Albert leaned over and said something to his second-in-command, an alarmingly thin man with an eminently forgettable name. The thin man nodded furiously and said something back with a peculiar drop of his head that made it quite clear that his words were flattering. Caesar couldn't help but frown; it was a bad idea to surround oneself with sycophants. Still, though he and Albert might have come to something of an understanding, he'd be damned if he'd mention it to him. Maybe Apple could say something.

He put the binoculars back into his belt and turned to his own second. "The opportunity to see Harmonian efficiency firsthand is charming, isn't it?"

Apple shrugged. "I think we can find it here in a greater degree than anywhere else, though."

"You think it's the influence of my dear brother?" He turned back to the battlefield. "Wouldn't surprise me."

Tinto was continuing its insane push forward. It didn't look as though they would be able to go on much longer; the front lines of the force were all but destroyed. Caesar didn't really care to watch.

Instead, he looked up at the sky. An odd dot caught his eye, coming from the northeast. He pulled out his binoculars to see an odd-looking bird floating along, drifting toward the battlefield.

"Apple, are you seeing this bird?" he asked.

Her voice held a bit of rare scorn. "No, Caesar; I'm watching the battle."

"It's just..." he said, then dropped it. It had by this point reached the battlefield – it must have been faster than it looked – and circled above the Harmonians two times. Then it dived, only to pull up in front of Albert. He looked up, then held out a hand for the bird to alight on. Once it had settled down, he pulled something from its leg and launched it skyward again. It flipped its long tail, then flew off the way it had come.

"A messenger," Caesar muttered, and focused on his brother as he read the paper he had taken from the bird. It was impossible to make out Albert's expression at this distance, even with the binoculars, but his head snapped up and he turned to his second sharply. The second took the message from him, read it over, and said something. Albert sat extraordinarily still for a moment, then turned to an attendant, who saluted and rode off.

A minute later, the distinctive sound of Harmonian bugles cut the air.

"Shit." Caesar turned to Apple. "Any idea what that means?"

Her brow furrowed in concentration for a moment. "I think...No...I'm not sure."

"Helpful," Caesar said, then looked back at the battlefield. "Shit!"

The Harmonian forces were pulling back. Not retreating, no; this was very controlled. It looked more as though they were going to defend to the northeast. This opened an enormous gap for the Tinto forces to push through, to get behind the Zexens, and if they did...

"What the fuck is he doing?" Caesar spat. It probably had something to do with the message he had received, but...

Caesar turned to his aide. "Have the Zexen forces pull back to the northwest."

"You can't. That'll put our backs against the cliff face," Apple pointed out.

"I know it will." Caesar scowled as Apple shrugged and the aide rode off. Even without the Harmonians, they had a slight numerical advantage – about five thousand to four – but if Tinto got behind them...

So Caesar leaned forward in his saddle, willing the Zexens to a faster retreat, and Tinto to a slower advance.

---

"What the _hell _was that about?" Caesar spat. Albert looked up from his conference with his thin second and a man with a vaguely scholarly air about him.

"That's wasn't my doing," he said.

"No? What _part_ of it wasn't...We could have _won _that battle!"

Rather than explaining, of course, Albert felt the need to correct his brother. "We did win that battle."

"There was no _we _about it." Caesar snorted out a laugh. "_You _seemed to have very little part in it. And do you have any idea how many people we lost? Do you have any idea how many people we _could _have lost?"

Albert frowned and slid ungracefully off his horse. Caesar did the same with slightly more decorum.

"Lord Silverberg..." the thin man began in a surprisingly deep voice. Albert waved him off.

"Let's take a walk, Caesar," Albert said. Caesar toyed with refusing, just to spite him, to express that he couldn't shake of the death of the scores of men who even now he could see being buried, just against the cliff wall to his right, but Albert's sycophant clearly was against this little stroll. So he went.

They only ended up going a few hundred feet, far enough to be out of earshot but not far enough for Caesar to have lost his anger, before Albert turned to him.

"Here," his brother said, and shoved the paper Caesar had seen earlier into his hand with considerable force. This snapped Caesar out of his own rage to see that Albert was as angry as he'd ever known him to be: pale, stiff-lipped, and with jerky movements. Maybe his claim denying that the loss was his fault wasn't so utterly false.

So Caesar looked down at the letter, written on a strip of light paper much wider than it was long. It bore the official seal of Harmonia, and the paper itself was rich and flecked with something that glittered as it caught the sunlight.

He flipped it over to see a brief message, written in a scrawling shorthand he never would have expected –

_Fr eyes of Albert Sberg only; prevent Tinto frcs from gng n of Alma Kinan trty at all costs, statim. When done, frtfy 42.9043x21.1002.Don't assist G.&Z. frcs, unless nec. to convince still allies. - Sasarai_

Caesar stared down at this a moment. "Well," he said. "Well."

"Yeah."

"I would have expected Sasarai to have better spelling."

"It's to save room, genius."

"I know. I was trying to make a joke."

"Frankly, Caesar, I don't think that this is the best time for a joke."

"I think it's always a good time for a joke, Albert, because if I don't laugh, I'm probably gonna cry, but really, that's neither here nor there. Isn't showing this to me – vaguely – you know – treasonous?"

"Vaguely, yes."

"Why'd you show it to me, then?"

Albert frowned. "God only knows," he spat. "You don't seem to be appreciating the gesture much." He started walking again, farther away from the massed generals, and Caesar had to scurry a bit to keep up with his brother's impressive stride.

"Oh – I appreciate it. Trust me, I do. It's just taking a moment for it to..." Caesar cleared his throat. "Sink in." He looked down again at that last sentence. "Did you know?"

"Did I know _what."_

Caesar scowled at his brother's back. _Albert _hadn't just lost five hundred more men than he should have; no reason for him to be so snappish. "Did you know that Sasarai had this in mind."

"No!" Albert said, and stopped suddenly to turn to Caesar. "He used me. He _used _me. I thought – that...that the armies would be directly under my command, that he didn't even pay attention when I asked...I thought I was coming to help you! But he must have asked me in there with the intent that I would...Dammit!"

Caesar, for his part, was torn between outrage for his manipulated brother and satisfaction that Albert finally felt what he had been inflicting upon others for years innumerable. He settled on the former after a bit of debate, if only for that _coming to help you _comment. "That's just – it's low."

"It _is _low," Albert agreed, and seemed quite calmed by his brother's solidarity. He shook his head. "If I had thought...that it would be _this, _I never would have come here."

"Well, at least we had the opportunity to catch up on old times," Caesar said with false cheer. Then, seriously: "What if you were to disobey the order?"

Albert shook his head. "No."

He reflected. "Yeah. Stupid suggestion. Sorry." Then he looked down at the message once again. "What does this mean? These numbers..."

"They're coordinates," Albert said, much in the way one might say _That's the ground, dear. _"It's a common tool for denoting positions."

"Not here."

"Well, it is in _Harmonia._"

"Okay. What position do they commonly denote?"

"These ones?" Albert frowned down at the paper. "Do you have a map?"

"I do, though I must note that it's not commonly denoted into – "

"Could I _have _it, please?"

Caesar reached into his belt pouch and pulled out his map. "A good strategist always carries maps around with him."

"A good strategist knows when to shut his filthy, bile-spewing face," Albert replied mildly, taking the thing from Caesar's hands.

"I can't even begin to express how intimidating you are," Caesar comment. Albert waved him off, though, staring intently down at the map.

"The forty line is about _here,_" he said, tracing a finger across the map, "and the twenty here. So they meet..."

"In the middle of abso-fucking-lutely nowhere," Caesar declared. "Sasarai is off his rocker."

"Entirely possible," Albert agreed absently. "But I'll be damned if it isn't vaguely..."

Caesar took a second look, and inwardly agreed that, indeed, it was more than vaguely familiar. "Yeah..." He looked up at his brother, and somehow, he understood. "That's the ceremonial site."

"Of course..." Albert breathed. "I should have known. So..."

"Sasarai is after the True Wind Rune," Caesar said.

"Or Tinto is, and he's trying to defend it from them," Albert replied, and ran a hand through his hair. "God...Is it – "

"My Lords Silverberg!" someone behind them cried. Caesar turned to see an aide from his camp riding over, flanked by two soldiers, each both riding and leading a horse. "This area isn't secure. You should come in."

Caesar looked at Albert, who looked exasperated, but shrugged. The soldiers reached the elder first, and he was offered a hand up. Albert took it and hauled himself ungracefully into the saddle. The second soldier approached Caesar and offered him a hand. Caesar waved it off, though with a muttered thanks, and started to pull himself into the saddle.

As though on cue, a heavy crossbow bolt thudded into the ground near Caesar. His horse shied and tried to run; Caesar could only maintain his grip for a moment before he fell hard onto the ground, all breath knocked from him. Then it was a confusion of cries and stomping legs until Caesar realized that a second arrow had landed on the other side of his horse, which now was running towards him, and all he could do was sort of grunt feebly and try to roll to the side –

Then someone had grabbed the reins of his horse and pulled it away from its mad dash –

And someone was riding over on a horse terrified, and Albert was just calling out to find out what was going on when he stopped and cried out and turned enough to let Caesar see the arrow that protruded from his back.

Slowly, Albert slipped from his horse, and fell against one of the knights, and when Caesar regained his feet, he could see the paleness of Albert's face and the pool of crimson spreading grimly where it shouldn't have been.

-------------------

In response to the responses to Albert's plan: It's MAGICAL, dammit. WIZARDS DID IT. Um, no; anyway. The actual plan is not, indeed, to, you know, kazaam the entire army into the heart of Tinto, but rather to use a small – very small – force whose progress into Tinto will be concealed until they take the Presidential palace. Sort of a chess move; take the king, and the game's over. It's how they do it in Harmonia. Duh. But the force would take all their supplies with them, travel by night, et cetera, et cetera – you know, the regular Suikoden battles rather than the army battles.

Let it be known that I shoot cute guys for kicks.


	8. Chapter 7: Achilles

**"To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time"**

-Chapter 7: Achilles-

-------------------

Caesar's eyes had probably run over the same sentence ten times, not once absorbing it, before he gave up.

"I'm going for a walk," he announced.

"Are you going to check on Albert again?" Apple murmured without looking up from her own book.

"No, I am not. I tried to do my duty in that respect earlier, but they informed me that he couldn't yet see visitors; this is merely to be expected, since it has been mere hours since he was injured. Now, I – I am merely going for a walk, but if I wandered by that general area, it would be complete coincidence."

"Wait, wait. Let me tell you how many people you fooled with that." She looked up pointedly.

"Why aren't you in your _own _damn tent?" Caesar asked, silently blessing her for her attempts to distract him.

"You call that glorified duffel bag a _tent?_" She snorted. "And me, I'm _brass. _I _weep _for the common man."

"Would you like me to pick something up for you while I'm out, milady?" he asked gallantly. "Perhaps a drink? The finest chilled chateaubriand, to be served in crystal glasses..."

"Caesar," Apple laughed, "do you even know what chateaubriand is?"

"I had thought wine, but judging by your scorn..."

"It's _meat, _Caesar, and go to your brother; I'd imagine that he'd want to see you right about now."

Caesar nodded and tried not to seem too anxious as he left. He knew he should trust the doctors; by all accounts, they were quite competent, and Albert, among the highest-ranking officials in camp, would receive only the best treatment. And he had received prompt medical attention, and each of Caesar's inquiries had been met with progressively more irritable assurances that no, the wounds were in no way life-threatening, and yes, it was normal for someone to bleed that much. But Caesar, for all logic, didn't quite believe them. How could they know if an organ had been hit or not? It would be so easy for them to make a mistake. Even at this moment, Albert could be dying or dead.

He only had to step within earshot of the medical tent, however, for his fears to be assuaged.

"Absolutely not," came Albert's voice from inside. Caesar turned to the man sitting out in front of the tent, suddenly feeling a lot more relaxed.

"Is it all right...?" Caesar began. The harried-looking man waved him inside.

"Madam," Albert had begun once Caesar walked inside. The elder Silverberg looked well, considering; a bit pale, a bit tired, but his head was propped up with pillows, and evidently, his lungs hadn't been hit. A nurse stood over him, a cup in one hand, a glass bottle in the other. "You have no idea what I have experienced. I have walked the most treacherous halls of political intrigue. I have rubbed shoulders with bishops and with kings, all of whom wanted to see me fail. I have served as counsel to the same. I have stared down an enemy across a battlefield and across a negotiation table. Many of these enemies would stoop to any low to see me taken out. How do you suppose I've managed to survive this long?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "By _never losing my ability to think. _So if you think I'll take something that would incapacitate me, my dear woman, you are gravely mistaken."

"You are aware that you're the only one who likes to hear yourself speak, aren't you, Albert?" Caesar asked.

The nurse, who seemed more irritated than impressed by Albert's name-dropping, turned to Caesar. "Good evening, General Silverberg," she said, scowling. "As you might see, I'm having to deal with a bit of childishness here."

"Childishness!" Albert exploded, trying to sit up, then groaned and slid back down.

"Maybe _you _can convince him to take it," she said and held out the bottle to him. "Up for it?"

"Always," Caesar said, and took both the bottle and the cup.

"Fill the glass half-full, and don't let him eat or drink anything afterwards. If you'll excuse me, now, I have _lives _to save_,_" she said, and walked off in a flurry of skirts.

Caesar glanced at the label a moment. "It's for pain relief, you know," he said, shaking the bottle enticingly.

"It'll also put me to sleep," Albert responded.

"You're surrounded by armed guards, Albert. Nothing's going to happen."

"I'm not afraid of being attacked. The problem is that there are things that I would end up talking about if under the influence of something like that, and I shouldn't be talking about things."

"Like what?" Caesar said jokingly.

Albert fixed him with a steady gaze. "Like the fact that my second-in-command is a spy for Sasarai."

He considered making a joke about how, evidently, Albert didn't need mind-altering substances to make him spill his guts, but Albert looked in the mood for a jest neither at this moment or about this topic in general. "A spy for...Oh, you mean on you. How do you know?"

"I know. And if I let him know that I knew..."

"Wait – he's a spy, and you let me see that note earlier where he could see you giving it to me?"

"Yes," Albert said simply. "Aren't you doubly grateful to me for showing it to you?"

"I'm doubly convinced that you're an _idiot."_

But Albert was shaking his head. "Don't worry. It'll work out."

"What the hell's _that _supposed to mean?" Caesar demanded. Albert merely raised an eyebrow and took a drink of the water on his bedside table. Unfortunately for the elder brother, this backfired and reminded Caesar of the bottle in his hand. He sat down in the chair set up next to Albert's cot and poured until the cup was half full.

"No!"

"Oh, come on, Albert. I'll be here. I'll make sure no one comes in and bothers you."

"You don't think there are things I want to keep from you, too?"

"It'll help you. If you don't drink it, you won't be able to sleep."

"I can do without sleep."

"No, you can't."

"It's _purple, _Caesar."

"So?"

Albert actually sounded vaguely petulant. "So, I can't drink something that's purple!"

"Why not?"

"It's not a natural color."

"Sure it is. Plenty of things are purple. Lilacs, and plums, and..."

"Give me the fucking cup."

Caesar handed it over without a word. Albert stared at it and swirled the viscous liquid, then looked up at Caesar. "You'll leave as soon as I take this, right?"

"Absolutely."

Albert nodded. He took a deep breath and threw the entire thing back, then immediately choked and grabbed Caesar's arm.

"It burns," he coughed.

Caesar took the cup from his brother's hand. As soon as the hand was no longer full, Albert reached for his water, but Caesar, feeling reasonably bad about it, slid it out of reach.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You can't."

"But..." Albert's eyes slid shut and rested there for a moment before he forced them open with a visible effort. They looked dull in the half-light. "You should leave now," he murmured.

And Caesar would have, if Albert's hand hadn't been tangled in his sleeve. "I will once you let go of me."

Albert nodded, but his grip didn't loosen. Caesar would have been surprised if he'd even heard him. Slowly, Albert's eyes drifted shut once again, and his face relaxed. Strange – Caesar had never realized how tightly controlled Albert's face was. How could he stand living like that? Never letting an emotion slip for fear of the consequences...

Caesar let Albert rest like that a few moments, then tried to disentangle hand from sleeve without waking him. He had only loosened Albert's thumb, though, when his older brother opened his eyes once again.

"Where's Caesar?" Albert whispered.

"I'm here, Albert – " Caesar said, suppressing a laugh. Albert tried to sit up, and hissed something and winced expressively.

"Caesar – " he said, mind evidently cleared by pain. "You promised to leave."

"I've been trying!" Caesar responded, trying to push Albert back down. Slowly, the elder slid back down, but this time his eyes didn't close. Slowly, though, he relaxed again, and the eyes sort of glazed over, moving or blinking every once in a while.

"Tell him I'm sorry," Albert said suddenly.

"Who?" Caesar asked, only half paying attention. He'd gotten two of Albert's fingers to let go, but the final three were putting up a fight.

"Dad," he murmured. "Will you tell him?"

Caesar frowned. "I don't know if I'll be able to, Albert."

"Will you try?" Albert asked.

"I'll do my best." The middle finger had lost its grip.

"You can't."

"What?"

"You can't talk to him. He's dead." Gee, you think? Thanks, Albert. "I killed him."

Caesar stopped in the middle of disentangling Albert's pinky. "What?"

Albert blinked up at him. "What?"

"You said..." Caesar tried to collect his thoughts. A scream, however, from outside, hastily cut off, interrupted them.

"What was that?" Albert asked, trying to sit up again. Caesar pushed him down and pulled his arm from Albert's grip.

"Relax. I'm going to go take a look."

He stood up and walked outside. It had gotten dark – extraordinarily dark – since he had arrived at the medical tent. The tent was set off from the main avenues of the camp, as well – normally an advantage, since, away from the bustle and noise, patients were more able to sleep. However, no one had thought it necessary to hang gaslights outside. Consequently, Caesar, his eyes still used to the lamps inside the tent, couldn't see a damned thing.

He took a few experimental steps anyway, and stumbled over something, and fell. His hand went into something wet, and when he pulled it up again, his palms were darker than the pale gray of his skin. He kept himself still and heard a peculiar whistling sound, and he realized that it was someone injured.

"Oh my God..." he muttered, then forced himself to his feet. "Someone! Help! I need – someone's hurt – "

Then something slammed into him from the side, lifted him up and pressed him bodily against something solid – a perverse snatch of awareness informed him matter-of-factly that it was a tree trunk – and held him there by a length of body that was thin and bony-hard, by a length of something cold pressed against his throat.

He took in a breath to yell for help, but a low voice, somewhere between a whisper and a growl, hot against his face, spoke before he could cry out. "Go on," it urged, full of cruel laughter. "Keep screaming."

This silenced him more effectively than a thousand admonitions toward silence. "Get off of me," Caesar spat. The man – he still couldn't see well enough to make out anything more than a general impression of black clothes and pale skin, but the voice was distinctly masculine – laughed, and slid the silvery blade along Caesar's throat. He was suddenly very aware of the tree forcing him into the man.

"I hardly think, boy, that you're in a position to demand anything of me," the man in black hissed. Caesar, upon consideration, couldn't help but agree. "Now – where is Silverberg?"

"What?" Caesar asked. The man looked displeased.

"He's in this camp, I know. I can _feel _him. And you...you know where he is. Tell me where."

An assassin of some sort, no doubt. Probably from Harmonia, sent by some political enemy. For all the lucidity of his thoughts, though, Caesar was utterly unable to find his voice. The assassin, evidently, took this as being uncooperative.

"Very well, then," the man said, and shifted his grip on his weapon. It took a moment before Caesar realized that he was going to die. He tried to speak, then, to sell out his brother; he tried to beg for a reprieve; but all that escaped was an anguished moan, and he clenched his eyes shut and waited for the overwhelming pain.

None came.

Slowly, he opened his eyes again to see the pale man watching him thoughtfully. "You're his brother," he whispered. "I could recognize that wince of anticipation and pain anywhere...This is _delightful!"_

The man reached up to caress the side of Caesar's face. Nausea rose. He didn't dare act on it, though; if some fancy was keeping him alive, he'd be the last to deny that fancy.

The assassin's wrist sort of snapped sideways, and there was a knife in his hand, trailing the path of Caesar's cheek. "Imagine," the tall man breathed. "Just imagine the look on Silverberg's face if I presented him his darling brother inside out...Hewn and split like a side of meat. I wonder if he'd _cry..._" At this, the man pushed the very tip of his knife into the tender skin beneath Caesar's eye, twisted it, and pulled it out. Caesar managed to swallow his yelp into a soft grunt. The man trailed his finger through the flow of blood over Caesar's cheek and licked it. "How delicious that would be," he said with a grin.

"Yuber," someone said. The tall man twisted, and Caesar was able to see Albert framed in the tent's entryway.

"Silverberg," Yuber growled in return – and yes, now Caesar recognized the demon who had run with Albert during the war, five years ago.

"You can't..." Albert grimaced. "Hurt Caesar. You can't hurt _anyone_ here..." Albert swayed, and looked as though he was about to fall over, but gritted out a bit more. "By the blood that...that binds us..."

Yuber turned back to Caesar with curled lip and took an exaggerated step back that allowed Caesar to stumble forward. He immediately went to his brother, who collapsed onto Caesar's shoulders.

"You shouldn't have gotten up," Caesar said, barely even aware of _what _he was saying. Albert sort of grunted, and obliged his brother's prodding by cooperating with a shuffle back inside and over to his bed, leaning heavily on Caesar, who couldn't help but see that blood was soaking through the back of Albert's gown.

"Are you all right?" he muttered to Albert, who managed a shaky nod. Gradually, Caesar helped lower Albert back into his bed. Immediately, the elder Silverberg's eyes closed, but Caesar couldn't let him sleep quite yet.

Albert's eyes opened again as Caesar shook his shoulder. "What?" he whispered, his face pasty, covered with sweat.

"Can I leave you here with him?" Caesar asked urgently. "Will he hurt you?"

Albert shook his head, his eyes closing again. "I'll be...fine..." he sighed. A moment later, his shallow breathing slowed and deepened. Caesar looked over to see the demon watching him with calm eyes that stood in hideous contrast to the bloody knife still dangling loosely from his hands, the bit of blood on his lower lip. At Caesar's glance, Yuber grinned, and his teeth were red.

Caesar wasn't entirely sure if he believed his brother, but he needed to find a doctor both for Albert and the man who lay bleeding outside, even now. So he abandoned him to the tall, lean man who took an indolent seat in the chair by Albert's bed.

Caesar returned sometime later, the doctor who had tended to the wounded man in tow, to find that Yuber hadn't moved. Even after he had retreated to the other side of the tent, the demon watched Albert's still form with uncanny eyes, an unchanged gaze, never blinking in his feline fascination.

-------------------

So, yeah. I couldn't bring myself to kill off Albert...yet. Moo wah hah hah hah.

I think that once I finish this damn thing, I'm going to go through and proofread and clean up all the plotlines I just sort of dropped. I was, for example, planning to do a lot more with Franz, but I realize now that it's not going to work. And thank you, Jonathan, for pointing out the Shiba thing; I have to be quite honest, I completely forgot about it. But he is still alive, because they ended up winning the battle in time. I certainly didn't just pull that from my own ass. Not me; never.

Also, D'Artagnan, thank you for pointing those typos out. I'm so embarrassed.

Problem here is that I need to stop rushing these chapters. I just want to get on with the story, though, because I'm really kind of excited for what's ahead.


End file.
